


see you best with eyes wide shut

by Adenil



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Consent Issues, Established Relationship, Kink Negotiation, Light Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4043752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's love, of course, but even in love things can't always go right. Bruce needs more and Clint just wants to make him happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	see you best with eyes wide shut

**Author's Note:**

> **This is a somnophilia fic with atypical consent issues. Spoillerific warnings: In this case the unconscious party originally asked to have their kink fulfilled and the conscious party was hesitant but didn't voice their concern. The conscious party doesn't really want to do this but does fulfill their partner's wishes and finds some enjoyment.**

“Yeah?” Clint asked.

“Yeah,” Bruce breathed in reverence, and his entire body quivered.

Clint moved as slowly as he could, giving Bruce plenty of time to say no. He ran his fingertips up Bruce’s arms and cupped his elbows, pulling him in for another long, deep kiss. He kept them dry and chaste as Bruce shivered against him, making tiny breathless sounds of desperation. Clint broke off to kiss at the corner of Bruce’s lips, his jaw, then down his neck. Each inch of skin was heaven under his lips and when he darted out his tongue Bruce gasped.

“Yes, Clint, yes, just…” Bruce silenced himself and went back to his breathless sounds as Clint undid the first button on his shirt.

Clint glanced up and saw Bruce’s eyes shut tight. He moved to kiss both closed eyes gently, murmuring, “I’ve got you, babe,” against Bruce’s skin.

“Clint,” Bruce whined, pushing into Clint's touches. “Please, Clint. Just, just please—Wait, wait stop.”

Bruce pushed him away and Clint stumbled. He wasn’t bothered. Although his skin was singing with arousal and his fingers itched to touch Bruce again, he understood. He watched as Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few fortifying breaths.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said. His eyes were still closed and he sounded miserable.

“I’m not,” Clint said. His voice sounded rough to his own ears. “I got to touch you, Bruce,” he explained. “And kiss you. That’s all I really want.”

Bruce finally looked at him, brown eyes disbelieving. “That can’t be all you want from this,” he said. “That’s not all _I_ want from this. How can you, how can you be with someone as broken as me?”

Clint knew it was risky with Bruce still high-strung from a near-Hulk-out, but he still reached out and touched him. He pulled his partner into a tight hug and buried his nose in Bruce’s curly hair. “You’re everything I could possibly want,” he whispered. “I love you, okay?”

He could feel Bruce stiffen in his grasp, so Clint held him tighter and said, sternly, “Hey. No fighting about that, remember? I love you.”

It was still difficult for Bruce to accept, but at least he didn’t voice his objections this time. “I love you,” he said back, grabbing the front of Clint’s shirt and holding on tight. “I love you so much.”

They swayed there for a while until Bruce had calmed down and Clint’s body had reluctantly realized there wasn’t going to be any nookie. Then Clint pulled back and kissed Bruce on the cheek. “Wanna watch Star Wars?”

Bruce expertly extricated himself from the hug. “I should get to the lab,” he said, and if Clint didn’t know him so well he wouldn’t have recognized how nervous Bruce still was.

“Okay,” Clint said anyway. He knew pushing Bruce usually only led to slipping backwards into a pit of despair. He kissed Bruce on the nose and said, “Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all; I’ve got you.”

“Thanks.” Bruce kissed him back and slipped away, shoulders hunched and nervous.

Clint watched him go, feeling lost.

*

Clint was still watching television—some weird movie about sex addicts—when Bruce stumbled back from the lab. Clint smiled at him as Bruce curled up on the opposite end of the couch, knees drawn to his chest.

They watched in silence until the credits started to roll. Clint stood and stretched his arms above his head before scratching at his stomach. He was pretty tired now. It was late and he hadn’t slept well the night before. It had been a nervous night for Bruce, meaning they’d slept separately.

When Bruce spoke Clint almost missed it, he was so quiet. “You said…”

“Hmm?” Clint turned to him. Bruce was still all curled up with his face pressed to his knees. Clint’s heart clenched at the sight. “Bruce?”

“You said,” Bruce spoke again, and this time his voice was a little more steady. “If there was anything I needed you’d do what you could to help.”

“Of course.” Clint sat back down and when Bruce looked up at him, Clint reached out to hold his hand. Bruce held back firmly.

“I want to sleep with you,” Bruce said. His voice was hoarse.

“I want that, too,” Clint assured him, and it was the complete truth. Bruce turned him on like crazy, and he would have been lying if he’d said that all their unfulfilled make-out sessions didn’t leave him in a perpetual state of arousal. “But,” he said. “What we have is perfect for me. I don’t want to lose that. You don’t have to—”

Bruce held up a hand to stop him. “Let me finish,” he said, and Clint clammed up quick. Bruce took a deep, fortifying breath. “I mean, I really want to sleep with you. I...want to know that you want me like that.”

“Of course I do!” Clint exclaimed, but then he remembered Bruce’s request and he shut his mouth with a click.

Bruce just smiled at him, indulgent. “I can’t do it the typical way. I get excited, my heart rate gets too high and then...I just don’t want to hurt you. Ever. That’s why I need you to do it when I’m unaware.”

Bruce was silent long enough for Clint to become confused. “Unaware?”

“After a battle, or maybe I can whip up something in the lab.” Bruce considered that for a second, his gaze far away. Clint took the time to admire Bruce’s gentleness, the way he unfocused on the here-and-now to worry about scientific problems. “But after a battle would be best. There’s a clear connection between how long the battle lasts and how long I’m unconscious after.”

Clint winced at Bruce’s cavalier attitude to his own health. The first few times they’d dealt with an unconscious Bruce, dead to the world, had been nerve-wracking. But, if Bruce was talking about being unconscious...

“You want me to have sex with you when—” Clint choked. He couldn’t even say it.

Bruce nodded. He leaned in and slid one of his legs off the couch so he could reach forward and pull Clint into a kiss. It was hot and searching, all the things Bruce’s kisses could never be. Clint instantly opened his mouth to Bruce and tipped his head back, sighing as Bruce explored him.

When Bruce pulled back his eyes were wild. He looked more turned on than Clint had ever seen him. “I want you to touch me when I’m unconscious like that. When I’m asleep and can’t know. I want to wake up and—” He stopped and closed his eyes, biting at his lip. “I want to feel how you’ve used me to pleasure yourself. I want to know what you’ve done. Is that—Can you, Clint?”

Jesus, Clint was conflicted. On the one hand his partner was practically in his lap, turned on and desperate and literally asking for it. On the other, the idea of it was appalling to Clint. You couldn’t just have sex with someone when they weren’t awake. It was dirty and wrong and all the things their relationship wasn’t about.

But Bruce’s face was so open, all his wants laid bare before Clint. Even though it made him sick to think about, Clint still felt himself nodding. He managed a cocky little grin.

“Sure,  babe,” he said. “I’d do anything for you.”

*

Clint had almost forgotten about their late-night chat. He would have gone on blissfully not-remembering, except they got called to Assemble only three months later.

“We have a code green,” Rogers told them over the comms.

“Received. I’m bringing Banner to the drop off point and will then pursue,” Clint said. He turned to Bruce, who was curled up in the passenger’s seat of the Quinjet. “Are you good, Bruce?”

Bruce nodded. He stared out the window almost wistfully as Clint flew. They landed at the edge of the HYDRA base and Clint opened the hangar door.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Clint said, already flipping switches and powering down the ‘jet.

He was so distracted he didn’t realize Bruce was approaching him until his partner twisted the seat around and shoved his way between Clint’s legs.

Clint let out a manly _eep!_ and stared up at Bruce. “What’s—?”

Bruce was all hands. He grabbed at Clint’s face and tipped his head back, kissing him hard and licking into his mouth. One hand traced down Clint’s chest, leaving a fiery path in its wake. Bruce felt hotter than usual, Clint thought randomly as Bruce bit at his lip and sucked at his tongue.

“God, Clint,” Bruce breathed against his lips. “You’re so— the things you do to me. The things you _can_ do to me.” He gazed down at Clint and Clint could see that his lips were pink and smeared wet, and his eyes were just beginning to tint green. “When I wake up…”

It all crashed down on Clint again, and he quickly stood. He crowded into Bruce and bent him back over the console, kissing him and shoving his hand up Bruce’s shirt. He tried to kiss past the spike of fear the threatened as he remembered what would be happening in just a few short hours. He wondered if he could acquire an injury during the battle that would give him an excuse not to do it.

But, no. That would only delay the inevitable.

He concentrated on Bruce under him, writhing and gasping as Clint shoved open his shirt and bent down to suck at his neck. He bit, hard, just shy of splitting skin and sucked a hot, red mark that shifted to a mottled green. Reckless and dangerous, the two words every SHIELD report used to describe him. Usually followed up with: idiot.

“Ah! Clint, will you, please, will you?”

“Yeah,” Clint said as he bit at Bruce, marking his neck and shoulders and then down his chest. “Yeah, I will. I will, Bruce. I want to.” The lie stuck in his throat, but he forced it out.

Bruce shoved him off all at once and took off running towards the back of the Quinjet. Clint watched him go, breathing hard in a weird mixture of a panic attack and arousal. Bruce tossed away his shirt and his shoulders were already twisting and growing as he stumbled onto the HYDRA base and tipped his head to the sky.

The Hulk roared and took off running into the woods. Clint, small and scared, grabbed his bow and followed after.

*

The battle lasted three hours, then Hulk slipped away—how they always managed to lose track of a ten-foot tall _glowing green behemoth_ was a mystery to Clint. They followed his tracks and found him four hours later, bathing in a stream. Clint coaxed him aboard the ‘jet and it took another hour for him to turn, leaving a rumpled, unconscious Bruce Banner on the floor just as they arrived back at Avengers Mansion.

According to Bruce’s algorithm, that left them with two hours before he woke.

“I’ll take him,” Clint said breezily. He hefted Bruce over his shoulder and Rogers frowned.

“Protocol is that he goes to medical.”

“He does better if he wakes up in familiar surroundings,” Clint said. He almost wished for a second that he hadn’t tried to argue. That he’d just accepted it and handed Bruce off to Rogers.

Especially because Rogers was already nodding, implicitly believing him. He waved Clint away and turned to Tony. “Mission debrief when he wakes.”

Clint practically ran to their shared quarters.

He felt like everyone could tell what he was planning to do—what Bruce had _asked_ him to do, he told himself sternly. Bruce had literally sat on their couch and gotten excited about the prospect of Clint… of Clint touching him. But at the moment Clint didn’t feel excited at all. He was only nervous. He wondered if the whole team was speculating about them, if they knew he was going to molest his partner. If they thought he was as sick as Clint felt.

Clint moved on autopilot to lay Bruce out on their bed. It was the one they shared on good nights, Clint thought idly as he looked down at Bruce. Bruce’s face was turned to the side and his mouth was slightly parted as he breathed. His limbs were all splayed out and Clint quickly straightened them, not liking the way it made Bruce look dead.

“Okay,” he told himself sternly. “This is going to be okay.”

Bruce was still grimy and dirty from the fight, and his pants were a lost cause. Clint went to the bathroom and wet a few towels, telling himself he was just giving Bruce a sponge bath. That was something he’d done before, so really, this wasn’t much different.

He wiped Bruce’s face first, slowly revealing each freckle on his high cheekbones. He trailed his hands down Bruce’s neck and shoulders. The marks he’d left on Bruce earlier had completely faded when Bruce had changed, and Clint mourned their loss. He did sometimes wish he could mark up his partner and actually have the marks stay. He wanted to be able to go around and see the corner of a hickie peeking up from Bruce’s collar. But he couldn’t.

Although, now he maybe could.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Clint leaned down and sealed his lips over Bruce’s juglar. He sucked in and held the skin with his teeth, worrying and drawing blood to the surface. He didn’t make Bruce bleed—he didn’t want to die of radiation poisoning, thanks—but he did leave a garish red mark that he soothed with his tongue.

Normally at this point Bruce would be twisting under him or shoving him off, too turned on to know whether he wanted to keep going or had to stop. But Bruce was still as Clint left two more marks down his right shoulder, each over a cluster of splattered freckles.

Clint pulled back and admired his handiwork, then he went back to cleaning Bruce off.

The hair on Bruce’s chest was matted with sweat and dirt. Clint rubbed him down thoroughly and then cleaned his arms, loving the way Bruce’s skin felt under his hands. He so rarely got to just _touch_ Bruce, and now he savored each moment.

He had to clean all of Bruce, he reasoned with himself, and so he shucked off the tattered remains of Bruce’s pants and cleaned everything from his waist down to the soft pads of his feet. There was less dirt there, and what was there was finer. Only those bits small enough to work through the weave of Bruce’s pants. A thin layer of dust. Clint cleaned him efficiently and then rolled him over to do his back.

As he did so, one of Bruce’s arms flopped to the side and Clint froze, staring at it. It felt so unnatural to see Bruce like this, completely at his mercy. He’d done this before, but it had never felt like this. Never felt like Bruce was putting his trust completely in Clint. Trusting Clint to take care of him, to give him what he needed.

Clint had to set the towel down and step away.

“Okay, dummy,” he said, batting himself around the head to try and knock some sense into his over-stressed brain. “You can do this. It’s not that hard. You just, you just have to go back and wipe him down and then slick him up and fuck him and oh, God fucking _hell_.”

He was hyperventilating. Clint sat down on the floor and put his head between his legs, breathing steadily to try and calm down. “Fuck,” he said to himself over and over. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was being stupid, he told himself sternly. Bruce wanted this. _He_ should want this. Who wouldn’t want Bruce under them, that beautiful body wrapped around their dick?

“Okay, okay, okay.” He stood back up and walked over, focusing on one thing at a time. Bruce’s arm was still splayed out awkwardly and so Clint moved it down to his side. He wiped off his back and ass and legs slowly, knowing he was delaying on purpose and still doing it.

Some part of him hoped that the margin of error for how long Bruce would be unconscious would swing the other way and Bruce would wake up way, way early.

But he couldn’t delay forever. When he glanced at the clock he saw that the sponge bath and freak-out had only burned thirty minutes.

He looked down at Bruce and tried to see his still form in a sexual light. He was embarrassed to find out that wasn’t so hard.

He’d always liked looking at Bruce. Even before they’d started dating he’d found himself stealing away to the lab and perching up high to watch. Bruce had a nice frame, solid and masculine, with perfect square hands and blunt fingers. His shoulders were broad and his waist curved in just enough to draw the eye to his narrow hips. Clint liked the hair Bruce had in weird places and his knobby knees and his curly hair that was always this side of too long. Now he was all stretched out for Clint, laid out like a fine buffet. And, Clint realized, he could feast as long as he liked.

Clint found the lube he’d stashed in the bedside cabinet one hopeful day when they’d just started dating. It was still unopened. He still didn’t open it yet, just set it to one side and crawled up on the bed.

The bed dipped and swayed, and Bruce moved with it. It made Clint feel almost sea sick to see how little Bruce could prevent his own movements. Clint carefully straddled Bruce’s legs and rested his hands on his shoulders. He wasn’t hard yet—no where near, really, he was still at the beginning stages of thinking about maybe being turned on. But he still liked to touch Bruce.

He leaned in and nipped at the back of Bruce’s neck. Feeling reckless, he sucked a little and worked a mark to the surface. Clint bit down his spine and then over his shoulders, leaving perfect little teeth imprints. They weren’t smudged, as Clint knew they would have been if Bruce had been awake enough to twist and turn under his touch.

He drew up both of Bruce’s hands to rest beside his head. He liked the way that looked better. Less like Bruce was helpless, although his fingers were curled unconsciously by his ear. Clint picked up first one hand, then the other, and kissed his palms.

It was the silence that finally started getting to him. All he could hear was his own loud breathing and Bruce’s soft exhalations and the gentle whir of air conditioning. So he spoke.

“You’re beautiful,” he said to the back of his partner’s head. He traced his fingers through Bruce’s hair. The curls were a bit matted in the back and so Clint worked through a knot as he spoke. “I know you never want me to tell you that, but you are. You’re beautiful and sexy and I desire you. I want so much to be with you, but this isn’t really what I had in mind.”

He laughed humorlessly to himself. Strangely, it was easy enough to scoot down and shove Bruce’s legs apart. Clint settled between them and pushed them up before resting his hands on the swell of Bruce’s ass.

“I wish I knew another way to prove it to you,” Clint went on. He spoke quietly. “To prove that I’m happy exactly the way things are. But I guess you aren’t happy or you wouldn’t have asked me to do this.”

Bruce was so unresponsive that the sick feeling started to come back. Clint mentally shoved it away and reached over to uncap the lubricant. He had to fumble with the plastic sealing the top before flicking it away. He squirted a bit out onto his hand and rubbed his fingers together, just staring at the clear, glistening stuff.

He looked down at Bruce, at his beautiful ass and long, lean back. He’d wanted this for a long time. To have Bruce under him as he held him down, slid into his body. But he’d wanted Bruce writhing and moaning, begging for more, desperately telling him _yes_ and _Clint_ and _please_.

Clint closed his eyes and thought hard about the way his name sounded in Bruce’s voice. It made things a little easier, but he still couldn’t do it like this. It was still too impersonal.

He flipped Bruce over onto his back, leaving a smear of lube on Bruce’s hip. Clint looked at the smear and wondered if Bruce would take that as proof enough that sex had happened, but no. Clint needed to leave real evidence.

“I just need to see your face,” he whispered, and before he thought better of it he leaned in and kissed Bruce.

In a way, it was much like their other kisses. Bruce didn’t usually open his mouth during those, either. But now Clint could gently coax his slack lips apart. He reached up with one hand and rested his thumb against Bruce’s chin, pulling it down to explore his teeth. It was strange, but for the first time that night it was also a little thrilling. Bruce’s mouth was so warm and wet inside that Clint couldn’t stop the fleeting thought of what it would be like to slide his cock in there.

The thought traveled south quickly and he gasped. He grabbed ahold of the fantasy desperately. He needed to get hard to be able to do this.

He kissed Bruce and slowly fucked his slack mouth with his tongue. He could imagine it, now. Bruce laid out for him, mouth open and desperate. If he did it like this Bruce would be completely relaxed for him. He could slide right down Bruce’s throat and feel those muscles contract around him as Bruce breathed.

Okay, this was working for him. He kissed Bruce once more, hard, and then pulled away.

Clint jumped off the bed and shucked off his uniform. The cool air prickled at his skin. He reached down and wrapped a hand around his half-hard cock and stroked a few times, just enough to wake it up.

When he turned back to Bruce, he was surprised to see Bruce’s cock was in a similar state.

It was just an autonomic response, Clint knew, but still it set his mind at ease. It seemed perfectly natural, then, to reach forward and take Bruce in hand and tug him into full hardness.

“God, you feel good,” he told Bruce. He imagined that Bruce was biting back an answer. “Perfect. You were made to fit in my hand, Bruce.”

He crawled back onto the bed, still stroking. He wondered if he could make Bruce come like this. He was certainly getting hard enough, heavy and stiff in Clint’s hand.

“I wanna suck you,” Clint commented, then he realized he was being an idiot so he took Bruce in his mouth.

Bruce was all smooth skin and salt. Clint traced the head of his cock with his tongue and encouraged more precome. He lapped at him and then sucked him down, bumping his cock against the roof of his mouth again and again.

It felt so unbelievably good to do. He hadn’t gone down on anyone in a long, long time. Even before he and Bruce had started dating it had been years since he’d given head to another man. He’d missed it, he realized suddenly as his dick gave an appreciative throb. He liked the feel of it in his mouth, heavy and filling.

Clint kept sucking as he grabbed for the lube again. He squeezed more onto his fingers. He lay down between Bruce’s leg and manouvered Bruce’s right leg over his shoulder to give himself access. Just a few fingers, he told himself. Enough to get Bruce wet and slightly sore. Enough to make him know how much Clint wanted him.

But when his first finger slid in with no resistance, Clint knew it was a lost cause.

He moaned around the cock in his mouth and slipped a second finger in alongside the first. Bruce was so smooth inside, opening easily under his touch. Clint was starting to grey out, losing little snatches of time to how _good_ it felt. He rocked his hips down against the bedding, rubbing off on the sheets. That felt good, too, but it wasn’t enough and he knew it.

He quirked his fingers inside Bruce until he brushed up against his prostate. When he did so Bruce’s cock twitched in his mouth and Clint gasped. He brushed that spot again and again, as light as possible so Bruce wouldn’t be in pain later. Each time Bruce’s cock got harder in his mouth and Clint sucked more enthusiastically. He wanted to make Bruce come, he realized a bit manically. He loved his partner and wanted to touch him everywhere, to be with him and inside him and all around him.

Clint had to pull away, breathing hard. He kept stretching Bruce’s hole as he rested his cheek against his hair stomach. Bruce’s cock was _right there_ and so Clint occasionally poked out his tongue to trace taut skin.

Bruce was ready for a third finger, so Clint gave it to him. The movement of his hand kept rocking Bruce’s hips and it felt different now. Knowing Bruce could only lie back and take it was twisting itself up in Clint’s head, changing into something undeniably hot.

Bruce _trusted_ him. The thought made Clint choke up with affection. Bruce trusted him enough to give up his whole body solely for Clint’s pleasure. The only thing he asked was the Clint leave enough of a mark to let him know he’d been used.

“Fuck,” Clint said, startling himself with the sound of his own voice. He turned his head to mouth at Bruce’s stomach, biting and leaving marks in between his words. “Fuck, I need to be in you. I, I could just use my fingers and you’d know it but I _need_ it, Bruce. Did you know I would need it when you asked me to do this? Did you know you could pull me apart in your damned sleep?”

His hips were rocking against the bedspread completely on their own now. He was so desperate to be in Bruce that he was almost overcome with it. His cock was hard and heavy between his legs as he pulled his hand out of Bruce and poured more lube on.

He slicked himself up and scrambled forward.

“You’re gorgeous,” he told Bruce. Bruce’s head was turned to the side, mouth still open and inviting from earlier. Clint lined himself up with Bruce’s entrance and began the slow slide in.

He could have done it fast and gotten the fuck out of there, but as Bruce slowly enveloped him he knew he wanted to make it last. Bruce was so still under him that Clint could do anything. He settled for throwing Bruce’s legs up over his shoulders, laughing as he did it.

“All that yoga is coming in handy,” he panted. He bent Bruce backwards and gasped as the new angle tightened Bruce around his cock. “Damn, Bruce, you’re like a toy. I can move you how ever I want.”

He curled forward until he could kiss at Bruce’s mouth and wrapped a hand around Bruce’s still-hard cock. He rocked his hips forward a little deeper into Bruce’s inviting warmth and gasped, “Yeah.”

Clint set a steady pace for himself, pumping fast and hard at Bruce’s cock while slowly rocking in and out of his body. He managed to find an angle that apparently stimulated Bruce pretty well. He could feel Bruce twitching in his hand with each stroke, the unnatural stillness of his body magnifying the response.

“Come on,” he whispered against Bruce’s lips. “Come on, Bruce. Won’t you come for me?”

Of course, Bruce couldn’t hear him and so his words didn’t push him over the edge. It took until Clint’s hand was sore and he was fearful that he’d have to stop before Bruce’s orgasm snuck up on him.

Bruce spilled out over his hand without so much as a change in breathing and Clint swore and moaned as the come slicked up his hand. “Yes, yes,” he encouraged. He twisted around to watch the last of Bruce’s come eke out and the sight of it was exhilarating.

He’d done it. “Fuck, Bruce, I just made you _come_.”

He couldn’t hold back anymore—didn’t want to, anyway. He folded Bruce up like a pretzel and reared up for leverage and just started pounding. Bruce was simultaneously tight and open under him, hot and slick around his cock. He ached for it, ached to come inside him and knew he _could_.

“You’ll feel this,” Clint panted against Bruce’s shoulder. “You’re gonna wake up and feel how much I took you. God, Bruce, I want you to feel this for _days_.”

Pleasure built backwards, pooling in the base of his spine before spider-webbing out until his fingers and toes were tingling with it. He’d never felt this aroused before. His head was buzzing with it, the endless litany of giving Bruce what he wanted his only mantra. He fucked Bruce into the mattress mercilessly until his balls clenched and his cock spasmed, emptying out into Bruce’s waiting body.

Clint gasped and shuddered before collapsing onto Bruce. He lay there for a few hectic seconds, catching his breath, before the fearful thought that he might be suffocating Bruce shot through him.

Gently, Clint got off of him and pulled out. Everything was filthy between them, covered in their shared come and Clint’s sweat.

“Okay,” Clint said and weirdly enough, it was.

He thought about cleaning Bruce up again, but realized that Bruce wanted to be dirty. He settled for rolling Bruce out of the wet spot and taking it for himself before curling up along Bruce’s side. Clint was already dazed and sated from the sex as he rested his head on Bruce’s shoulder and sleepily eyed the myriad of hickies he’d created.

He smirked a little at them. He liked the way they looked.

Clint was thinking of stars—constellations of freckles marked by gas giants in the shape of teeth marks—as he fell asleep.

*

He barely woke late at night to a soft hand cupping his face, softer lips brushing against his.

“Thank you,” Bruce said, then, “I love you.”

Clint fell back asleep.

 

 


End file.
